Cat's Death List
by minusclea
Summary: Cat is going to die. From cancer. There's no point in pretending. So she wrote her death list. 5 people, that she choose to talk to. In complete honesty. God stand by those 5, it is not going to be pleasant for them. CatxBeck, CatxRobbie
1. Chapter 1

**So Cat, 15, was diagnosed with cancer, and after months of fighting against it, she has to come to the realisation that it is a lost war. She'd going to die. So she choose to, instead of a bucket list, do a death list. For her friends. God stand by them, it not going to be nice for them. **

**BTW, of you have any questions about the storyline, or anything just ask me and i will answer it :) **

**I know that this chapter is EXTREMELY short, but if you review, i will upload the next one, and i promise you, its 3 times as long if not longer ;) **

**Hope you enjoy it: **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything that you recognise from victorious**.

I just couldn't understand why my own body would want kill me.

They tried to explain it to me. Many people. Many times.

I never said anything. I didn't listen to them. And then, they usually went away.

There were times when it got better. Times, you could nearly believe that I would win. If it wasn't for those times when it got worse than ever. Every time there was an improvement, the rebound was twice as bad as before. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to stand it much longer.

I had the feeling that death hated me, wanted me. I hadn't messed with him, no.

I had rang his bell, and then ran away. And he certainly did not like that.

So now I was his whore. He could come to me every time he felt the need, and take everything from me. My love, my family, my friends, my hair, my spirit, my laughter, my happiness, my will...my life. And everyone else could just stand there and watch him. Because he wasn't real. They couldn't take him and throw him against the wall. Beat the crap out of him, or ...kill him.

Because it was me, I killed myself, my own body killed me.

If I would die, everything would be won, and lost. It was an all or nothing game.

I could choose to live with the disease I loathed, or I could ... go on. If I would only know, where it was going.

I had spent many nights thinking about that. I had seriously considered committing suicide.

A few weeks ago, however, when my mind didn't have a solution yet, my body started to take things in its own hand.

Now I know I only have a few more weeks to live. There's no point in pretending. I would have to face my fate. I needed a lot of medulla, and considering that I have a really rare type and neither my parents nor any of my friends could spent, I knew I was lost.

And that was when I made a decision. I will never live for more than 15 years, because that is how old I am right now. So I choose the 5 most memorable or important people in my life, whether in a positive or negative way (excluding my parents) to talk to them. In complete honesty. I would tell them everything, about every lie I've ever said, every suppressed feeling; They will know everything about me.

Because there are two things that a dying person can be sure about.

Number 1: No one will laugh at you, considering your state.

Number 2: You won't live long enough to feel embarrassed.

**So I hope you liked it, i already have the next chapter written and finished, so all I am waiting for are at least 2 reviews ;) **


	2. Chapter 2

**Since you guys were so fast in reviewing the story, i thought i might just add the next chapter right now. But please don't get used to me being so fast :D **

**I hope you like it! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything that you recognise from victorious. **

**3 reviews for the next chapter :) **

**Lots of love and cookies. **

Today was a particularly bad day. I had seen myself. In the mirror.

It was incredibly devastating to see myself. Not so long ago I had really thick dark red hair, bright and warm brown eyes and usually reddened cheeks, accomplished by deep dimples. The person I saw in the mirror this morning looked nothing like I used to look. She had no hair. Not a single hair on her head, no sign of eyebrows or eyelashes. She was as pale as the white walls of this hospital that I hated so much. Those white walls that represented pure desperation. You could dream and imagine everything you wanted, but as soon as you opened your eyes and saw those walls, you were thrown back into reality, with that sicking, tingling feeling in your stomach, that I was so used to by now.

The persons eyes looked grey. With no life looking back. Like the eyes of a corpse. Or at least like I imagined them . Lifeless, hopeless. Hateful. Yes I hated my life. How could I not. I never did anything bad to anyone. I always tried to be a good and happy person. I enver wanted to be extraordinarily pretty, or thin or anything for that matter. All I ever asked for, since I got that devastating diagnose months ago, was to be able to get old. And die a natural death. But even that was taken from me, not granted, wish not accepted, please make a new one, if possible within the next month, because after it you'll be dead. So you tell me how I could not hate my life.

But it wasn't just my life that I looked at with those vengeful and hateful eyes, right now. It was myself as well. I hated myself, my body, my everything. If I had just been stronger, if I would have fought more, I could have stood a chance...maybe. That was what I told myself. Over and over again. I blamed myself for my disease. I told myself it was my fault. And once that idea was planted into my head, no matter how ridiculous and childish it sounded, it grew. Like a disease, spread through my brain into my body, my limps, into my hands, until they took the knife and cut. Cut the soft flesh, deeper and deeper, spread into my eyes that watched the blood drip onto the white bedspread, with a sickly satisfying feeling. Watched when my hand smeared it onto the white walls, and spread into my ears, to hear that sick, pleased laugh that sounded a lot like „Are you happy at last?"

Spread until i smeared it all over my head, where my hair should have been, the same colour. Like red velvet cupcakes. But just like my hair, it also didn't taste like cupcakes.

My face was sunken, no sign of dimples or anything alive at all. It looked like the face of a puppet. Emotionless, frozen, cold. I looked like the living death. And I hated seeing myself in that state.

It therefore wasn't very surprising that I wasn't in my best mood when the nurse came around 2 into my room to check on me. Since I've been in here, I was never in a happy mood. Not like I used to be. I had nothing to be happy for. The disease had changed something else. My personality.

The nurses name was Marian and she was one of the nicer ones. She, for instance, did not treat me like a freak or a social-case. She treated me like a 15-year old girl, and I was thankful for that.

She must have been around her mid-thirties, with curly, brown hair, that she usually had in a ponytail, olive coloured skin, and a rather round body. She was, however, a very warm person, the kind of person that everyone would associate with a mother. A caring, loving mother. The one I never had. Marian did not make me feel worthless, untalented and a failure.

When she came in I was just working on my list. I closed my diary the second she entered the room, however, but she wasn't surprised or anything. It was normal. I never let anyone see me writing into the book. I wouldn't even let anyone see the book. I was extremely closed up since i entered this hospital 5 months ago. She therefore didn't look offended or anything when i lifted my covers, and hid my book underneath them. She pulled the visitors chair to my bed and sat down. I looked at her more closely. She wore her usual outfit, but she looked tired, exhausted. She had dark rings under her eyes, her hair was a mess, and her smile looked extremely forced and unconvincing. I acted as though I didn't notice, though. I know I should have probably asked if something was bothering her, then listened, and then said something like „Everything is going to be fine". But I didn't. I never did. I hadn't done that for 5 months. I had so much drama going on in my life, I just could not bear with the drama of another person as well. And her drama was most likely not going to kill her in a few weeks.

„How are you feeling", she asked and looked at me with worrying eyes. I though I saw some pity glittering in them as well. I hated pity. But since it was only a flicker it didn't say anything. I wasn't even really sure I actually saw it.

I did not answer. I was playing with my fingers, tracing the scars on my arms. Touching them, feeling them. Showing them.

She sighed. It was not unusual for me to not answer questions. Everything I could have responded to that question, would either be a lie, or worry them sick, anyway.

„Have you tried to cut yourself again?" she asked, this time I definitely sensed pity. My answer was therefore rather harsh. „I would, but how, with my fingernails?" I sneered, not pretending like I wanted to talk to her, or even have her in my presence. I was sorry that I was so mean to her, since I actually liked her, but today was just too much to bear, and I hated questions, personal questions. I liked to keep my feelings inside. Close to me. I had learned that, and I had become an expert. Jade was nothing compared to me.

„It was for your own safety and well being that we took everything away from you, and that you can't walk in and out of your..." „I DON'T care!" I yelled, hoping she was getting the hint that I wanted be left alone. „You know nothing about my well being. None of you. You don't have a clue, so don't come in here acting like you know anything about me!"

I got under my bedspread and turned away from her so that I was facing the wall. I heard her sniff, several times. She got up and checked if everything was okay with the machines, then she sniffed one last time and walked out of the room without another word. As soon as she left, I sat up in my bed and pulled my diary from underneath the covers. It had poked into my thigh for the last couple of minutes, and I wanted to finish writing my list. My death list, like I called it. I reminded me of a bucket list. The only difference was that some of my points weren't things I liked or wanted to do. Some of them I was going to hate. But I still had to do it. For their sake. For my sake, that was lost such a long time ago.

When I went into bed that night, my diary was lying on my night table, safely closed with a lock to keep it that way. And while I was staring into the dark, waiting for the sleep to come and take me away, a name was floating through my head. The name that was right behind that little 1.

André.

**Soo, thanks you guys so much for reviewing so fast! You reviews literally made my day. So as promised heres the next chapter, I think 3 reviews for chapter 3 are okay? :) **

**So please let me know what you think, i would also love suggestions for further chapters or the conversations Cat is going to have with the others. **

**Soo lots of love and cookies**

**3**


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